


Some Nights

by SubwayWolf



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bard Making Bad Jokes, Established Relationship, I'm Barely In This Fandom Sorry, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Non-Consensual Tickling, Prompt Fill, Sleeping Headcanons Galore, Starlight and Stargazing, grown men acting like children, just fuck me up, snoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-17 18:37:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3539846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubwayWolf/pseuds/SubwayWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is Thranduil perfect? Gods, of course not. Bard refuses to accept it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Nights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [preciousandpure](https://archiveofourown.org/users/preciousandpure/gifts).



> Prompted by the uncharacteristically merciful [thranduil-piemaker](http://www.thranduil-piemaker.tumblr.com) who, despite dragging me tooth-and-nail into this hell pit of a fandom, did not suggest something sad, which this fic easily could have been. She suggested something along the lines of: snoring, tickling, and generally Thranduil getting upset with his imperfections and Bard telling him they're adorable. Pretty gay, right?

It was not a wonder why the elves worshipped starlight. No one but a benevolent maker could have created those distant speckles of luminance on the black night sky, pale blue whispers of distant light. Thranduil’s eyes were the same color, and just as piercing and bright, reflecting light even in the dark, as it seemed, bringing luminance to even the blackest of corridors. 

Bard liked the way those eyes flicked back and forth, always waiting, anticipating, expecting something to happen at every corner, but he liked it more when they were closed. They did not often close, as if Thranduil could not afford to set down his alertness. But they did close, sometimes. They closed when he laughed. When pleasure overtook him in waves. When he planted soft, fleeting kisses upon Bard’s lips. But those moments always ended – Thranduil would open his eyes again, and Bard would have to pull his lips away. Time was a constraint for Bard, as it was for any mortal. For Thranduil, it was less of a constriction, but by no means did he let his infinite years go to waste; nor did Bard waste his finite life.

And what a feeling it was, to be united by flesh with someone who could not die. When their bodies were pressed together, bare skin touching beneath silk sheets, and when pleasure was at its peak, Bard closed his eyes and saw colors dance behind them. In those moments, he too felt immortal, if only for a second. But it was enough. Feeling Thranduil’s fingers knotted in his hair or his lips pressing against his own gave Bard just a taste of the marvels of limitless life, while still keeping him from the curse’s tragic conundrums. 

Bard found himself curious and engaged, distracted for the first time in years from the stresses and burdens of his life. He lay awake, wondering about Thranduil. His mind was consumed by the elf. The way his lips tightened when he was frustrated. How he kept his shoulders level when he walked, and how his hips swayed ever slightly, barely noticeably. How his ears curled and pointed so elegantly. How his clothes always hugged his waist so perfectly. Frankly, Thranduil consumed his thoughts, and Bard would not have it any other way.

Was Thranduil perfect? Gods, of course not. He couldn’t have been; Bard refused to accept it. It was easy for him to find imperfections because he was so intimate with the elf, and as their time together went on, he continued to find more of them.

Thranduil snored. The sound always startled Bard and woke him up in the night. It was not loud, just a dim, low droning sound that timed perfectly with each of Thranduil’s exhalations. Needless to say, it was impossible to ignore. Bard hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in at least twelve years, however, so being kept awake was not unusual for him and he didn’t mind. However, he was curious to find out how Thranduil might react when confronted with this, and got his opportunity one evening in the summer, two long seasons after they first met.

Bard was sleepy and contented, lying covered in the bed beside Thranduil, who slept peacefully but not quietly. Thranduil slept on his back and did not move an inch during the night; Bard, even when asleep, tossed and turned, never comfortable in one spot, tangling the covers around his own feet or throwing them off him, turning over on either side incessantly. Thranduil rarely noticed. He slept with a white, silk sleeping mask to cover his eyes and had a set of pajamas to match. Bard slept shirtless and only kept pants and underclothes on for decency. 

Muscles tense and thoughts ceaseless, Bard simply could not sleep tonight. He sat up and put his feet over the side of the bed, sitting upright, straightening his back to stretch out the muscles there. He relaxed, then sighed, pawing at his eyes to rub the sleepiness out of them. He looked upwards towards the arrow slits near the ceiling, allowing summer night winds and starlight to pass through, giving the dark room constant illumination at any hour.

Though he was no light sleeper, Thranduil woke up because of Bard’s movements. He usually slept through them, but tonight he did not. Bard did not even notice him awake until his soothing voice broke the silence of darkness. “Why are you fussing?” he asked, pulling his sleeping mask off his eyes. “Can you not sleep?”

Glancing over his shoulder to watch his lover wake, Bard only attended to him for a second before he turned back face again. “I’m fine,” he answered. He felt mildly guilty for waking Thranduil up, but only mildly. The elf would have no trouble at all falling back asleep.

Although he had just woken up from a deep stage slumber, Thranduil seemed characteristically alert and attentive. He shifted his hip and sat up in his position on the bed, turning his head to follow Bard’s gaze to the arrow slit windows lining the top of the room. Through them, the starry night could be seen. After pondering the situation, he voiced his confusion. “Why must you so often gaze at the stars if I am right here?”

Bard was sluggish to respond. “They seem closer, perhaps.” By no means were the stars brighter or more beautiful than the elven king, but they certainly felt more tangible, no matter that they were millions of miles away and Thranduil was within arm’s reach. The stars were unorganized, arranged sporadically each of them different and flawed in their respective ways – too far, too dim, too bright, too small. Thranduil was not in disarray, he was unflawed, always the perfect brightness, always exactly where he needed to be. He almost seemed unreal. Sometimes it made Bard feel uncomfortable to think about this, so he tried not to think about it at all.

Thranduil did not like that answer, so he decided not to discuss the matter any further. “Go back to sleep, Bard,” he said through a sigh, turning over and tugging the sheets over himself. “The sun has yet to show its face.” He laid back down in the bed, ready to fall asleep as easily as ever.

As an idea crossed Bard’s mind, a smile instantaneously crossed his lips. “Your snoring is keeping me awake.” He almost wanted to turn around to see the look on Thranduil’s face, but he managed to refrain for the time being.

There was a moment of motionless silence where Thranduil just paused to comprehend the words he was hearing. “My snoring?” he repeated as if Bard were speaking some language he did not understand. Thranduil let out a short scoff. “You must be mistaken.” He adjusted himself further, snuggling again into the blankets.

Bard shook his head gently. “I’m not.” He laughed briefly to himself and half-shrugged. “Just shocked that you don’t wake yourself up, to be honest.” 

Thranduil lifted his head from the pillow, presumably to glare at his human lover. “I do not snore,” he articulated with a certain jaggedness. Denial was typical. Denial was expected. Denial made this entire situation far more amusing.

“Do I look like I’m lying?” Bard ran his tongue over his sharpest teeth, trying hard not to laugh, but not doing well enough to suppress the smile spreading across his face. He finally gave in to his urge and turned around to see the look on Thranduil’s face. 

Of course, Bard did not look like he was lying, because he wasn’t lying. Thranduil was sneering, his nose wrinkled up and his brow knit in dismay. “I do not snore,” he repeated, as if saying it again would make the statement any more truthful. “You must have been dreaming again.”

Still smirking, Bard narrowed his eyes. “Right,” he allowed. “Keep telling yourself that, Your Grace.” He shook his head briefly. “But if you think for a second that your loud, annoying, extremely unattractive snoring is going to make me like you any less than I do, you’re wrong.” Bard did not expect to get a smile or even a thanks for this, and thus he got neither.

Thranduil averted his eyes. He was slowly and reluctantly coming to terms with the new fact he just discovered about himself. He trusted Bard’s word, as always, which meant he was telling the truth. Thranduil decided to drop the subject. “You don’t have to call me Your Grace,” he muttered, turning over in his space on the bed.

It was true – Bard did not have to call Thranduil by his regal title, but that never stopped him. It reminded Bard of his place. It reminded him of where he came from, of where he belonged, and who he was with. He knew it was not smart to forget things like that. Without those memories, Bard would be practically weightless. He feared his feet would lift off the ground and he would be sucked into the sky, into the brightness of air and the golden sun. Bard could not allow himself to forget his responsibilities. When he was with Thranduil, it was so damn easy to forget. How easy it would be to just allow himself to let go, to absolve himself from his duties at Laketown… Thranduil had offered him a place in Mirkwood countless times, but he always declined, and never regretted it for longer than a moment.

Bard could only smile affectionately at look at Thranduil with loving eyes. “Go back to sleep, Elvenking.” He reached out and gave Thranduil a playful jab in the ribcage beneath his right arm.

“Oh!” Thranduil jolted, shifting backwards in alarm. His eyes shot open. He hugged himself so his sensitive ribcage was no longer exposed to violation. “You… Don’t do that again,” he ordered.

Bard’s lips were parted in shock. “You’re ticklish?” he asked. It wasn’t a question that needed to be answered, truly. The look on Thranduil’s face said enough. Bard had spent enough time tickling his children until they were red-faced and crying from the laughter, but Thranduil… well, picturing him in the same position was nothing less than intriguing. “Maker’s ass, you’ve got to be joking.” He shook his head, grinning. He raised a hand in Thranduil’s direction, just to tease.

Instantly, the king jolted backwards, shifting his body so he was further away from Bard’s hand gesture. “Don’t you dare!” he warned, “Or I’ll…” He narrowed his eyes at Bard, and then at Bard’s outstretched hand, and then back to Bard.

Laughing mildly, Bard shifted his hips so he was entirely on the bed now, on his knees, crawling over slowly to where Thranduil was lying. “Let me guess. You’ll throw me in the dungeons.” He narrowed his eyes right back. “You wouldn’t last a week without seeing me,” he stated. Thranduil would never deny such a thing, but he would not confirm it, either. He crawled closer, his hand outstretched, hanging in the air ominously, ready to strike at any moment.

Cowering back even further, Thranduil’s voice went dark. “Such audacity,” he muttered. “If anyone else said those words to me, I’d take their tongue.” Of course, he didn’t mean he would take it out himself. He would have a servant do it so his hands would not get dirty. Still, Thranduil was not incapable of doing it, just not particularly inclined to.

“Yes, I know how much you like tongue,” he remarked, and before Thranduil could open up his mouth to riposte, Bard attacked. He stuck his hand out under the shield Thranduil had made with his forearms and started wiggling his fingers, digging lightly into skin and sending the elf into a frenzy. Thranduil burst into laughter, tossing his head and wriggling helplessly to get away, any pleas for help being caught up in his embarrassed laughter. Bard could not help himself and continued to be merciless while Thranduil’s cheeks started turning a light shade of pink and happy tears started to form in the corners of his eyes.

Suddenly, Thranduil snorted through his nose. All movement stopped. Bard stared at him with raised eyebrows, and Thranduil stared back with wide eyes. Another flaw. How typical.

Deciding not to make a joke, Bard kissed him instead, letting his eyes fall closed for the first time in this restless night. He put one arm on either side of Thranduil’s body, as if pinning him, and leaned down to plant the kiss on his lips, soft yet fervent. Thranduil brought both hands up to Bard’s face, holding him, grazing his thumbs across Bard’s jawline and feeling the hairs of his unkempt beard pricking against the pads of his fingertips. They would pause to breathe on occasion, not rushing, keeping each other close and patiently allowing the affection and pleasure to surge through them like a slow summer sunrise. Bard was exultant; Thranduil as peaceful as he had ever been. 

The kiss broke. It was brief, but it was what they both needed. Bard turned over and lay back down in the bed on his back, lying directly beside Thranduil. He was so close that the skin of his upper arm was grazing against the silk of the king’s night robe, smooth and cold. Bard kept his eyes closed as he faced the high ceilings. The kiss had been a reaffirmation as to the fact that Bard still loved Thranduil, despite the elf’s snoring, the fact that he was ticklish, and the snorting while laughing. Of course, it was obvious that Bard would never love Thranduil any less – it was Thranduil who needed this reassertion, for some reason. Bard was happy to give it to him.

Perhaps Thranduil was perfect. Bard regarded this with a smile. He did not have to open his eyes to know that Thranduil was smiling, too.


End file.
